Until the Very End
by 221authoronbakerst
Summary: The world didn't end in a bang or a whisper. But rather, one scream at a time. I'm not even finished with Marauding at Hogwarts yet but this is its sequel. Enjoy your spoilers, you weirdo. (rated M because they're adults doing adult things. OCs)
1. Chapter 1

" _That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally."_

Chapter 1: Yellow

Things people knew about Dorcas Meadowes:

She was Head Girl with Lucius Malfoy. She punched him in the face in their second year. She was a Hufflepuff.

When her hair was straight, which was a very rare occasion, it fell just above her shoulders. Normally, her hair was at her jaw and so tightly wound into spirals that they bounced when she walked and had a habit of falling into her face. When this happened, her hand would shoot out suddenly to brush it away causing anyone close enough to her to be in danger of her rather pointy elbows.

Everything about her was pointed. Her nose, her chin, her fingernails, her knees, the boots she always wore. Even her personality was a bit pointy. She never got close to anyone.

Her partner in the Order was Emmeline. Most suspected that there was a secret romance there.

Things people didn't know about Dorcas Meadowes:

Her favorite colour was yellow. The bright obnoxious yellow that gave her a headache to look at. She loved it.

She loved stories but hated reading.

She played piano and didn't know how she felt about it.

She came from a big family. She had a mother and father. 6 brothers and sisters. She was the youngest of the Meadowes.

She had once had a best friend. A muggle named Florence Peck.

Like most people who fought wars, she had nightmares every night. The difference between them and hers is that when she opened her eyes her nightmares didn't end.

She'd wake up every morning and see their graves because for some ridiculous reason her parents had bought a house next to a graveyard.

Every morning, she'd turn the kettle on, feed her cat, and pick nine flowers from her garden. (White daisies. She hated them.) She'd walk down to the graveyard and place one flower on eight graves.

One flower for Atarah Meadowes, beloved wife and mother. One flower for Thomas Meadowes, beloved husband and father. One flower for Adriel Meadowes. Bethany Meadowes. Dinah Meadowes. One for Esau Meadowes. Jairus Meadowes. And one for the unmarked grave. (It should have said Micah Meadowes. She hated that it didn't.)

The last flower was for Florence. Dorcas didn't know where she was buried so she compromised. She plucked each petal off each with a hope that Florence was well, wherever she was. The stem she'd bury under the tree that guarded the graveyard.

Then she'd make her way home, prepare herself for the day, and fly to headquarters to make her morning report.

There was nothing between her and Emmeline Vance, not even friendship. She made sure of it.

Sure, she tried but that was just Emmeline.

Em was friendly. Dorcas like that she was. Her talking calmed her nerves when they went on missions together.

They were usually stakeouts. Tonight was the Lestranges. They were to "watch, see who comes and goes. Do not interfere unless absolutely necessary."

That was the hardest part. The Lestranges were sick fucks. They were also rich fucks with some serious security. One wrong step on the pavement and you'll have forgotten what country you're in. The brick wall that lined their estate was electrified. The touch it and you die kind. That's how they lost Tommy O'Donoghue. Even if you do make it over the wall, the ground beneath it only _looks_ like dirt. It's a moat. Not the kind with alligators. The kind so horrific that if you do fall down it no one will ever know what happened to you. There were rumours that the grass beyond the moat came alive and dragged you down beneath the earth. Of course no one ever made it that far.

"Dorcas," Emmeline whispered, shaking her shoulder startling her back to the present.

"Sorry," she muttered, shifting her stiff legs. They were knelt behind the trees in front of the Lestranges' estate. It had been hours with nothing more than a squirrel crossing the gates. R.I.P squirrel.

"Where do you go when you do that?" Emmeline smiled a curious sort of smile and she looked at her as if trying to read her mind.

"'To a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away'," she smirked. Emmeline was Star Wars obsessed. She chuckled and shook her head having been long acquainted with her deflections she didn't press it. It would only get worse.

An hour more passed. Not even a bird flew across the grounds. It was worthless and mundane work but for some reason Dumbledore was convinced this is where the Death Eaters' headquarters was.

"Dorcas, I was thinking. After this you wanna grab a bite to eat? Maybe see a movie?" Emmaline asked, not bothering to whisper anymore.

"Why?" she asked, maybe a bit more aggressively that was intended.

"Because we've known each other since Hogwarts and I know nothing about you." She answered her question as if she rehearsed it. "I'd like to be friends."

Dorcas took in a sharp breath. Friends. What an awful, terrifying word.

"I've never been very good at friends," she said coldly, feeling the need to distance herself.

"For starters, it helps if you get to know the person," Emmeline said, kindly. She always did that. Counteract Dorcas's callous with becoming sweeter than before. "I don't know anything about you except that you're stubborn and you kick ass in a fight."

"That about sums me up," Dorcas shrugged and turned her body away from her.

"Nah, there's more than just don't wanna tell me," she said, laughing.

"I told you. I'm not good-"

"See, Dorcas, the whole friendship thing requires you to tell each other the… the deep stuff," Emmeline said.

"The deep stuff?" Dorcas returned, laughing now. "Like what? You wanna know how often I change my pants?"

"No," she laughed. "Like um… what's your favourite colour?"

"That's _way_ too personal," Dorcas said in a serious tone but with a smile on her face. Emmeline laughed.

"Come on what is it? I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," Emmeline sang, poking her side.

It would have been easy to just say yellow. It was only two syllables. It would have made Emmeline happy. Dorcas simply couldn't afford to make people happy. She couldn't afford to do friends.

"I'm not good at friends, Vance," she said softly, shaking her head.

"O-okay."

Dorcas flinched. She could practically hear Emmeline's heart strings breaking. This is what happens when you get close to people. They get hurt.

"You know what, it's not okay!" Emmeline yelled. She actually yelled while they were out on a stake out. They hadn't seen anyone for hours but still it was stupid.

"Emmeline-"

"No! I need to say this," she said, turning completely away from the scene in front of her so she could look squarely at Dorcas. "You push people away and your mean and…."

Dorcas blocked her voice out and looked above her head. It would be just her luck for one of them to turn up now when Emmeline was being reckless and emotional.

"All people wanna do is get to know you! And all you do…."

And She heard it. _Crack!_ The sound of someone apparating in front of the gate, their feet landing on the gravel with a _crunch._ Emmeline didn't. The Death Eater spun around at the sound of her voice. Their wand was pointed directly at them, lit with the threat of a deadly curse.

"Yeah, I get that war is scary and we could be dead any minute but bonding with you would-"

Dorcas pulled Emmeline to the ground and placed her body on top of hers. The green light flew over them both. The Death Eather strode forward. _Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

Dorcas pulled Emmeline to her feet. They couldn't disapparate yet. They had to get out of the forest.

They ran as fast as they could, dodging apparating Death Eaters and curses coming at them from every direction. They shot spells over their shoulder in a vain attempt to slow them down. The truth of it all slowly began to sink in. They were outnumbered, 20 to one, by Death Eaters who were not only willing to kill them but would take pleasure in doing so. And Dorcas Meadowes had been afraid of making friends. In good news: they had found Headquarters. All they had to do was get back to Dumbledore.

"Dorcas, I heard the road!" Emmeline shouted over the sound of a spell hitting the dirt. She grabbed her hand and pulled her through. The odd fluorescent lighting of a streetlamps marked the edge of the forest. Dorcas let go of her hand. They could run faster separately. She jumped over a fallen tree and stumbled. Emmeline was ahead of her. She could feel the Death Eaters closing in. Emmeline didn't notice. She spun around. Dodged a spell. Pointed her wand and shouted:

" _Fragor Magnus!"_

The effects of the spell sent a wave of power straight through the first line of Death Eaters knocking them on their arse. Giving Dorcas enough time to make it to the road.

She turned around and ran but she couldn't see Emmeline. There was no way she would have made it to the road by then.

"Em!" she screamed. It sounded girlish, childish even but she was scared. Not much could scare her. "EM!"

A bloody hand shot into the air not three feet from where she was. She dashed forward faster than she ever thought she could.

She was covered in blood with new cuts forming by the second. She hooked her arms under Emmeline's and dragged her toward the road. The Death Eaters had stopped shooting spells at them. They had stopped running. They were creeping slowly toward them an eerie smile on their faces. They believed that they won. They probably had but Dorcas wasn't giving up. " _Never stop fighting."_ rang the painfully familiar voice of her mother through her head pushing her forward.

"Dor-"

"Shut up! I'm not leaving you," she grunted.

Laughter rippled throughout the crowd of Death Eaters as they watched them struggle. Dorcas caught a gleam of excitement in the eyes of the nearest one. He raised his wand, his lips formed to say a curse as the heel of Dorcas's boot met asphalt. With all of her might she threw Emmeline out of the way, waved her wand to deflect the spell, took a firm hold on Emmeline, and disapparated. They landed in the living room of the Order's healer, Althea O'Donnell.

Emmeline was bleeding profusely. She was paler than anything Dorcas had ever seen. Her consciousness was fading. She pressed her hands into the deepest cut, hoping to ebb the flow.

"ALTHEA!" she screamed for the witch who was nowhere in sight. "Em, stay with me. Don't close your eyes. Don't fall asleep."

Emmeline's eyes flew open, wider as if in shock. She nodded quickly and grasped Dorcas's arm, her nails digging into her flesh.

"Yellow. My favorite colour's yellow," Dorcas breathed. She didn't know why but she just needed to say it. Emmeline smiled, her teeth stained with blood.

"Mine's green." Her voice was weak and barely above a whisper. Dorcas chuckled.

"Should have been a Slytherin then, aye?"

Emmeline made a noise, as if she was about to laugh but instead erupted into a horrible cough. She keeled over, blood spewing from her mouth.

"ALTHEA!" Dorcas screamed again. She carefully moved Emmeline onto her side so she wouldn't choke and tightened her hold on her gaping wound. She only did it so Emmeline wouldn't be alone. She was bleeding so much Dorcas could no longer see skin. Dorcas was sure she was going to die. "Okay, it's okay. You're okay. Just breath. Slowly. In and out. In…. Out."

She heard the back door creak open and footsteps fall across a tiled floor.

"Althea! Come quick," Dorcas yelled. She could hear Althea running. Emmeline's breath grew ragged and quick, the grip on her arm was slipping. "Althea! Hurry please!" she cried as Emmeline's eyes rolled back into her head. Althea slid on her knees next to her and pushed her out of the way. Her eyes flashed quickly over Emmeline's form then she set her wand to work, waving in odd fluid movement as she muttered words Dorcas had never heard before.

"Meadowes, get my potions kit," she ordered and she did.


	2. Chapter 2

_An Example_

Vasilios Pyrites made his first kill when he was only a child, not yet of Hogwarts age. He was playing with his friend Jesse and ended up bashing his head in with a rock. He was only a muggle boy. His mother wiped his tears and very calmly told him to wash himself up, that no one would know what he had done if he kept himself clean.

Jesse's murder was written up as an accident, an open and closed case: The boys were playing pirates on the rocky shore, Jesse slipped, hit his head on the rock, and died instantly; there was no pain but a lot of blood. Really it had taken three hits to knock Jesse unconscious and two more to kill him.

Pyrites killed again a year later. He had found a cat behind his grandmother's bins. He was initially drawn to it because of the skin had been scraped off of one of its legs so the muscle was clearly visible. Pyrites found it beautiful. He was so intrigued by how the skin stretched over the muscles like one never ending, durable sheath. That's when he learned to use gloves.

By the time he killed Professor Sinastra's owl in his sixth year at Hogwarts he was a master of deceit and cutlery. Only his master, the Dark Lord, a true artist himself, ever really knew what Pyrites was capable of. He taught Pyrites so many things; to have patience, move slowly, it was love making really. When The Dark Lord finally let Pyrites out on his own it was to take care of the Meadowes.

A family of eight but his Lord only wanted the father dead. "Kill the rest if you must. But don't waste time," he had said before dismissing him. The day Pyrites came for the Meadows he was disappointed to find that most of the family was away. Only the father and three of his eldest sons remained. He had so much pride in his work that he felt it should be appreciated, remembered so Pyrite left his white gloves on the kitchen table. The blood looked lovely splattered across the fabric.

Now he was known as the Invisible Hand, a nickname given to him by the Daily Prophet. He felt both annoyed and cherished at his work being printed. The Dark Lord didn't find to much joy in it at first; his wrath was something fearsome when he first learned about Pyrites leaving his gloves for the rest of the Meadows to find, but now he used Pyrites as a threat to strike fear into the hearts of the weak, calling Pyrites 'my Hand.'

"Perhaps I should feed you to my hand," The Dark Lord hissed. Instantly Pyrites fingers ached for his blade. The Death Eaters surrounding him shifted or laughed. The one cowering in the centre of their circle sobbed:

"Please my Lord. I didn't know. Have mercy, please, I beg you!" His face, covered in sweat and tears, shined in the moonlight. He was young, new to the ranks, and made the mistake of Apparating in front of two members of the Order of the Phoenix. It would not have been such a problem if they han't escaped, making the Lestrange estate no longer a safe place to congregate.

"Do you consider yourself worthy of Lord Voldemort's mercy, Snape?" he said calmly, his long fingers placidly stirring the air, his second finger and thumb eventually coming together. Every molecule in Pyrites body longed for them to _snap_.

"I-ah," Snape stuttered out a few syllables and lowered his head to touch the ground, his arms stretched out before him. Any second now. The Dark Lord circled him, disappointment etched into his face.

"We'll have to make an example of you," he whispered, low and barely audible. Pyrites breathing increased in speed. _Snap._ Pyrites stepped forward, his body singing praises to his Lord. Snape shot up, back on his knees. "Try not to kill him," he told Pyrites and Pyrites alone. The Dark Lord swept out. Snape looked confusedly from Pyrites to the receding back of his master to the Death Eaters still surrounding them. Pyrites took his gloves from his front pocket.

"No," Snape breathed. Pyrites slowly fit his hand into his glove, the right first. "No! Master please!" Then the left, pressing in between his fingers to make sure they were on properly, then tugging on the ends to make sure the cuffs of his sleeves would not be stained, his goal was to stay clean.

He waved his wand to conjure his tools, spreading them out with patience, waiting for Snape to get his breathing under control. The steady breathing meant that he was calm, that he believed he could survive the torture, that the pain was temporary. Pyrites knew better: Snape's dreams would be forever haunted by blue eyes and white gloves.

"Shall we begin?" Pyrites asked, knowing the question would help Snape feel more in control, giving him hope. Snape looked up at him, his breathing steady, his eyes terrified. Pyrites eased his back to the ground with a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder the flicked his wand, tying his hands and feet to the ground. "We'll start slow. Do not be ashamed of screaming or crying. There will be no judgements here."


	3. Chapter 3

With his hands gripping the top of the black stall, his eyes locking on the words 'suck cunt' written in neon blue, he thought of breakfast. It was a rather anticlimactic thought given his current physical state but while he was almost entirely disconnected from the encounter the girl - the woman - sounded like she was enjoying herself. She squawked rather than moaned, perhaps that's what did it. He made up his mind to stop by his brother's for a bit of three a.m. breakfast and reached around her waist to help move things along. The woman slumped, almost hit her head on the toilet, then finally started breathing again.

"Oh my god!" she groaned, breathing haggardly and using the disgusting looking wall to push herself into a standing position. Gabe quickly tucked himself into his pants, not wanting her to see that he had not finished. He was not in the mood for another round. "I need that," she whispered still leaning against the wall covered in bodily fluids. She looked at him with a sort of dazed smile, saw that he was dressed, and scampered to do the same.

"Do you have a ride home?" he asked, pretending to be adjusting his belt. It really wasn't her fault that he found this encounter to be so anticlimactic. It was a common pattern for him. He did all the work to get something done and, in the end, he would find that he didn't even want it anymore. It was a feeling he had come to depend upon.

"Erm, yeah. I'll - I'll just call my flatmate, have her pick me up," the woman stuttered. He had made her feel awkward maybe because he had dressed so quickly. He nodded, knowing that whatever he wanted to say to make her feel better would only wind up making things worse, and left her in the stall, not looking back.

Gabe Pevensie's life was fucked up and he knew it. He knew it since he was 11 years old. He knew it as he left the pub he couldn't remember the name of, drunk and completely flaccid. He knew it when he stepped off the curb and sent himself through the suffocating tunnel to apparate on his brother's front porch at three a.m. with only breakfast in mind. He knew it especially now because this same brother was the brother that became a therapist and because Jason Pevensie thoroughly believed in the shit he spewed he had taken on Gabe as a patient putting his license at jeopardy. Why the hell would he do that if he wasn't completely fucked?

It was a question that Gabe repeatedly asked himself whenever he thought of his brother. He never managed to summon the courage to actually ask Jason though. It was an answer he already knew and one he didn't want to hear so the question remained unspoken.

Gabe stumbled through the door, tripped over his nephew's shoes, cursed, and made for the kitchen with his stomach grumbling.

Step one: fried eggs.

Perhaps in his drunken state, Gabe didn't realize how much noise he was making. Or maybe he didn't realize that Jason, Mr father of the year, Mr successful career, Mr white picket fence with a trophy wife, would be sound asleep at three a.m. and be alarmed at the irregular noise level for the time of night but when Jason came bursting into the kitchen, swinging a bat, Gabe's mind went straight to the gutter.

He caught the bat before it hit his head, not registering the pain in his palm, grabbed the attacker's throat and held him firmly against the wall. His hand slapped the wall searching for something, he sputtered trying to form some words. Gabe tried to think of a way he could take out his wand without releasing his attacker or the blunt weapon he had come at him with. He slammed the attacker's hand against the wall trying to get him to release the bat.

The lights came on and Jason's face, purple under the force of his hold, stared back at him.

"Fuck!" Gabe yelled, throwing "Jason" against the wall. The bat clattered to the floor, "Jason" slumped, coughing and gasping for breath. "Get out of my head," Gabe growled, taking his wand in hand.

"I'm not. It's Jason! It's Ja-" he coughed violently. The sound of Gabe's sizzling egg came back. It was burning by the smell of it. Still, he couldn't move. He could scarcely breathe. What had he done? That could have been anyone. It could have been Jason's wife or his kid.

"What happened, Gabe?" Jason asked gently, on his feet now. He was looking at Gabe steadily neither angry or pitying. Gabe thought he was going to vomit.

"I…. I'm sorry," he said, already backing away. "I have to go."

"No, Gabe," Jason reached out to him. Gabe turned and walked quickly. "Gabe. Gabriel!" Jason caught his arm but Gabe stood stubbornly with his back to him.

"Tor, it's alright. Go back to bed," Jason said, calmly. Tori, Jason's wife, stood at the top of the stairs, hidden behind a wall apart from her face. It wasn't until she was gone did Jason release his arm. "Do you need air."

Gabe inhaled sharply through the nose, held it for a moment, then released slowly. Jason wasn't going to let him go so easily. This encounter required another session.

"I'm not in the mood, Jay," Gabe said firmly but for some reason, he didn't move forward. It would be so easy now to walk out that door. Jason would never be able to catch up to him.

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight," Jason returned, just as firmly. "Not after that. Besides you smell. Like sex and booze. It's only going to get you arrested."

Gabe chuckled at the thought. The Muggle police would never be able to hold him and the Ministry didn't care as long as he kept his wand to himself. Still, he turned away from the door and let Jason clap him on the shoulder.

"Scared the piss out of me, you know that," Jason said, intending to joke but it only made Gabe feel guiltier. "Being a wizard didn't make you forget how to use a phone?"

"Being a wizard made phones obsolete," Gabe muttered.

Jason made some crack about muggles being self-sufficient while he made Gabe his breakfast. He told him about Tori's work at her office - they worked with rats and that's about where Gabe tuned out. He told him about his son, Jack, starting school - apparently, he disliked his teacher because she wouldn't let him colour during nap time. He talked about his work with the AGLP - he was frustrated because they were reluctant to accept his help but was confident he'd wear them down eventually.

"To be fair, I don't think they doubt me personally. I think they're just scared. They've gone through a lot, you know?" Jason paused to look over his shoulder at Gabe. He was checking to see if Gabe was really listening. He was but he didn't know how to tell him that, he didn't even know what he AGLP was. Then Jason started reading Gabe's facial expression, except Jason reading facial expressions wasn't like normal people reading facial expressions. Jason could read people like any good legilimens and better than any average one. Gabe looked away which was probably more telling than the blank stare he initially wore.

"So, you haven't been to work for a while," he prompted. Bing! Bing! Bing! Ten points for Jason Pevensie. "Why's that?"

The reason why he hadn't been to work was the same reason why he hadn't seen Jason in, oh, four weeks now. Two weeks ago, he had been chained to a bed on the Lestrange estate. Two weeks ago, he had been tortured daily for information. Two weeks ago, he had been surprised that Dumbledore had sent a rescue team for him. Why waste the resources, the muscle? He was an essential member of the Order. He was family and friend to many members and none would stand by and let this happen. He needed to take some time off to recover. He could take as much time as he needed because they had some new recruits coming in so they could spare him for a bit. He'd be welcomed back with open arms when he was ready. Gabe spent the next two weeks holed up in his flat blasting Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb repeatedly. His neighbors hated him.

"I needed some time off," Gabe answered evasively. It was enough of the truth to not be a lie but not enough to stop his brother's questions.

"That's good," Jason said, sounding genuinely pleased. Gabe looked up at him in shock. "You recognized that you need time off and you took it. That's good. I might even say that that's progress."

Gabe looked back down. He hadn't taken time off. The time off had been forced upon him.

Jason drummed the table rhythmically, yawned, and started putting the pans in the dishwashing machine.

"We'll talk later, yeah? You can sleep in the guest room now that it's finished. Just make sure you compliment Tori in the morning," Jason said.

"Will do," Gabe said, taking his cue. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep at all. The adrenaline from the bat attack had completely burned through his buzz and Jason didn't drink.


End file.
